Jillian
by SarcasmGal
Summary: Jillian is new to the LV Crime Lab. Her life and trials there. First FF ever. R&R.
1. First Days and Jitters

I was sitting in my car. Too scared to go in. Sure, I probably looked cool and oh so very zen like, but- man- butterflies were rattling around like crazy in my stomach. _I'm not prepared. I'm going to fall on my ass in there_. The Las Vegas Crime Lab. Second best in the country. I never thought this lab would ever hire me. Sure, Im smart enough.. but I mean, c'mon, there must be more qualified people.

Okay, I'm going in right now... Just after this song. "I want to Conquer the World" by Bad Religion was playing. It's sort of my feel good song. It helps me get the cocky vibe I need to get my ass in gear. So far it wasn't working. _What if they don't like me? _The other little voice inside me asked if I cared. Truthfully, in the long run- probably not. First days, though, they're the hardest. I mean even if you're an introvert (like me) you still want people to like you. _Alright. That's it. I'm starting to feel far too Ally McBealish. I'm going in. Taking the bull by the horns. _

I stepped out of my Explorer and felt the hot air on my face. Funny thing about Vegas.. Zero humidity, but it feels like the city is missing part of the ozone layer in the sky. However, it was better than the hot sticky southern nights I had to suffer through in Tennessee. I was loving everything about Vegas so far. Driving wise, I couldn't get lost here. All the streets are layed out like a grid. While driving at night I know where I am according to the Pyramid light. You can see that sucker from space, so I've heard. If I did happen to get lost at night I'd just follow the light (my little 'northern star') or the Stratosphere. And I easily found my way home. Breadcrumbs, I guess you could call it.

I walked into the building and stopped at the front desk. The receptionist was nice enough to show me where to go and who to see. Gil Grissom. I walked down the hall listening to my heels hitting the floor. I couldn't help but be reminded of the Green Mile. I was walking to my doom.I just knew it. As soon as Mr. Grissom saw me he'd know right away I was highly underqualified for this job. I saw the door I was looking for and took a deep breath.. and held it. I just kept thinking I could leave now. They would never know I was here. _Suck it up, girl_. I knocked before I entered.

"Come In," a man's voice replied.

I held up my head (faking the confidence I needed) and walked straight in, offering my hand as I said, "Hello. Im Jillian Boccaccio and I believe you are the man who hired me."

"Yes. I believe I am. Im Gil Grissom. And you must be my new CSI. Ms. Boccaccio, I feel I should explain why I hired you. Your boss in Nashville had nothing but praises about your work and your commradity with fellow workers. Your grades in college were outstanding.Yet, I couldn't help but feel, despite all you've learned, you still need work. You're a good CSI, but not a great one. Usually this would make me think twice about you, but one of our lab techs has recently been made a CSI. His work is improving daily and I appreciate that he's willing to change in his views. Not getting stuck in his old habits. Thats what I want from you."

"So,what,you hired me because... I suck?"

Mr. Grissom looked a little surprised at my question, maybe it was because most people pussyfoot around him. "No, actually you probably over qualified. In fact I wondered why you hadn't applied to the best lab in the country or even the FBI"

"Honestly, I don't feel comfortable enough to apply for those jobs. Like you said I'm only a good CSI, not a great one. Plus, the crime lab in Nashville was really specialized work. I may be a master at Trace, but i would love to be a Jack of all trades. Your lab helps me do that, while still maintaining some specialization areas." I started to look around while Mr. Grissom seemed to be checking my file, or maybe it was just an X-Men comic book in a manilla folder. This man had bugs on his walls. Oh, and pig fetus'. Mr. Grissom looked up and noticed what I was doing. Examining his area. Trying to figure the boss guy out.

"How do you feel about Entomology, Ms. Boccaccio?"

"Oh, what, like the study of bugs? I think it's quite interesting. The fact that flies can tell you so much about a victim, down to what they last ate or cause of death. Amazing. But, mind you, I'm the first to swat a fly in my home."

Gil's eyes sharpened. He looked very aware now. "You would kill a fly? For simply being inside your home?" He asked it so incredously I couldnt believe it. It was as though I just said the USA didnt land on the moon in the '60's.

"Sure thing, sir. I mean when flies have a purpose in the grander scheme of things.. I'm all game. But have them walking around on my plate of food, and it's war. Besides, I mean you have bugs hanging up all over your wall."

"What do you mean?" he asked not fully comprehending what I was getting at.

"Well, isn't that like environmentalist handing out flyers, about why the rainforest are so important, on non recycled paper? You act as if you would not kill an insect for anything other than for evidence. And yet, you have killed numerous insects for reference, when you could easily use a book... But you know, that's assuming they weren't killed by natural causes. Which I would think they weren't since the whole bodies are intact"

Mr. Grissom seemed speechless and I was worried I had gone too far. _Well, good job, Jilli. Looks like you don't have to worry about sucking at this job, you no longer have it. _But then Gil showed a slight smile in his eyes. _Maybe he liked your spunk. _

He opened his mouth to speak, "_Touche_, Ms. Boccaccio. How about I give you the tour and introduce you to your co-workers?"

I smiled the biggest smiled right then. Seriously, it was huge. I was rearing to go, but first.. "Um. That would be great, but could I use the ladies room first?"

He nodded understandably and pointed, "Down that hall and through the doors on your left."

I started walking away and then remembered my manners, "Thanks," smiling brightly, "I was reeeeaall nervous!"

_Oh my god! Did I just say I'm so nervous, I'm almost peeing my pants. Walk faster, Jilli, faster! _I made it into my 'sanctuary' and banged my head agaisnt one of the mirrors. _I can't believe I said that. You should really join the circus. A gal who can shove one foot up her ass and the other in her mouth would be a show stopper. I could be a carnie_. I stared at the reflection staring back at me. A twenty six year old woman looking completely aloof and lost. Thats me alright. At five foot two with large green eyes and light brown hair. I still looked twenty at most. I wondered if I looked as small as I felt during that interview. How would anyone take me seriously? I straightened my jacket and my trousers and headed back toward Mr. Grissom.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."


	2. Prints

Disclaimer: Don't own anyone, but Jillian. And all that stuff. Like you really thought I was Bruckheimer? The story follows a forensic case, but like Law and Order says "though based on actual event all the characters are fictional."

"These are your co-workers. Warrick Brown, Sarah Sidle, Nick Stokes, and Catherine Willows. Over there," Gil said motioning to the guy fussing with the coffee machine, "is Greg Sanders. This is Jillian Boccacio, our new CSI. Make her feel welcome, she's along way from home."

"Hi," I responded strongly (my false security shining through). I was met with a bunch of 'hi's' and 'hello's'. I notice Greg Sanders look up as if he just realized there was an addition to the room. His eyes lit up. I knew that look. I hated that look.

"I'm sorry, I've grown accustomed to tuning Gris out whenever he talks," Greg explained, shooting an 'I'm kidding' look to Gil. "You must be the new girl. Grissom, I'm completely willing to oversee her work and to show her around the lab, or- hell- even the town.. if need be."

Before Grissom could say anything I cut him off. "Wow, if you are as good at your job as you are at being suave... I think I'd rather have Sarah oversee my work." I could swear I heard a few snickers and someone whisper _burn_. I saw a look in Sander's eyes I knew pretty well myself. That look when you thought you did something really well or, on a great day, even perfectly- and it turns out you sucked. I felt sort of bad for a moment, but then remembered how hard it has always been to be taken seriously. I looked young, something people always correlate with incompetence. I really did not need some little CSI guy hitting on me over a dead body. Oh, one may laugh, but at a crime scene that involved a female vic found in the water two weeks into decomp I received the nice little line of, "Hey, shortie, how's about you and me eating sushi tonight?" The guy couldn't even breathe through his nose without gagging and yet was hitting on me by calling me 'shortie'. One way to get on my bad side? Mention my height. It's always been something I've been sensitive about. If you're not short you'll never get it.

We all sat around the the break room, waiting for our assignments.

"Warrick, Sarah, Cath... you have a homicide up near Fremont. Nick, Greg, Jillian. You're with me on a missing child case in Summerlin."Grissom said handing out preliminary information the teams would need. I looked over mine. Summerlin, nice area. I'd heard that is where the money is. No wonder this would be priority. Rich people. Ugh. I continued to read. Missing eight year old girl. There was a Fourth of July party her and her mother attended. Went missing from there. We'd have to interview the mother immediately. Despite her grief we need details.

"All right everyone, let's go." Grissom stated, heading for the door already. Nick followed and the others left for their own case. Sanders stood up from the opposite chair. I rised from my own rearing to help solve this case, knowing everyone remembers the newbie's first failure- way better than their first success.

"Let's go, Shortie." Sanders said, patting my head real quick.

_Oh, this is going to be great. _

We were standing to the left of Detective Jim Brass, a man I immediately thought was cool as soon as I met him. Alot of detectives get very morose the longer they are on the job. Looking at Jim, I knew he would be great at his job, but more importantly he'd also know how to laugh. I liked that. As Charlie Chaplin said,_ A day without laughter is a day wasted. _I truely believed that. On this job I made the effort to laugh, a geniune laugh, each day. Even if that meant putting in _Billy Madison_ and just laughing at the bathtub scene.

"Mrs. James. Could you please just walk us through what happened at the party?" Brass questioned.

Mrs. James was holding herself together, for now. I could not see any of the whites in her eyes, they were too red from crying. The shadows of tears reflected off her cheeks. She was a grieving mother. "I asked Sara to get my purse from the closet and she did. I, god, i took it from her...but... I was still talking to my neighbors. I don't know. I- I looked for her to go, but... but she just wasn't there. I checked the bathrooms in the clubhouse. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. I shouted for her outside. But she would'nt go outside that late.. she just wouldn't. She's..." a slight sob escaped from Mrs. James throat, but she continued, "she's a good girl. She wouldn't just go off. She wouldnt."

"Okay, Mrs. James. Thank you. I'm going to have Officer Darrin go over a few more things with you and we are going to try our best to get Sara home for you." Brass said, nodding to an officer standing by the door. "Let's go check out the Clubhouse now."

Once inside the clubhouse, I continued to eavesdrop on Brass' conversation with Grissom. "She didn't use past tense. She believes her daughter is still alive. That's a good sign. But, still how does a little girl disapear from a party with plenty of potential witness's? "

I took it upon my self to look at the interior layout of the place. Why would a girl leave her mom, who was almost about to leave? I remembered a time when I was at the beach with my mother and I had to use the bathroom. I left her side and got lost for fifteen minutes. She yelled at me for twenty. I looked at the left overs from the party. Numerous paper plates scattered along the punch stained tablecloths. The punch had been sucked dried from the bowl. _Maybe she was thirsty_, I thought. I looked for a water fountain in the main room. There wasn't one. I left the room and looked into outer area. There it was by the restrooms. _Okay, so she goes to get a drink and.. what? _ I was stumped. There should still have been people who would've noticed a struggling little girl. I walked back to the main room and decided to keep shut. I didn't need the guys to think I was trying to be all Nancy Drew. Nick called me over.

"Look around, this place is a mess. Fingerprinting's gonna be a bitch." Nick seemed exasperated. He didn't seem to know where to start. You can do everything by the book and still it might take you nowhere. This could be one of those cases. Everyone had a reason to be here. Prints are explainable. DNA was in abudance, but was irrelevent for this case at the moment. Sanders was looking around for something. He looked determined. I should be that way. Instead I'm so worried that I'm going to screw up somehow I didn't even want to test my theory. I have a nervous tick of rambling, but when it comes down to it I just want to hide instead of talk to people. If I were a turtle I could just pop my head into my shell at moments like this. I'd be a damn good turtle. No wonder Grissom thought I needed work. In Tennesee I could help with cases and was pretty darn good at being on a team. But, it's when I have to speak up alone, about something important, that I would rather be a turtle. Sanders had disapeared into the outer hall. I spied him going into the men's bathroom. _Yeah, good luck champ!_ He was in there for less than a minute when he came out.

"Grissom, I think I have an idea of what happened. I think Sara James went to use the bathroom, but someone got to her." Greg explained.

"But, how could he, or she, get Sara out the door without being seen?" Brass asked.

"There's a full size window in the men's bathroom. It was unlocked and near the parking lot. Someone she knew could've lured her into the men's bathroom and taken her from there," he went on.

"Still, if she was headed toward the bathroom she was atleast ten feet away from the men's door," Grissom countered. I could tell from Grissom's expression that he believe Sara was taken through the window, but that the 'bathroom story' was a little off. He was leading Greg, trying to get him to think more logically. What was closer than the ladies room? I knew the answer.

"The water fountain. She came out for a drink. She's little so she'd need the shorter fountain. That's only, what, four feet away?" I grumbled. Not quite ready to be certain until I got encouragement.

"Could be. Print the fountain and the window. Good catch, Greg!" Grissom said. Nick patted Sanders on the shoulder and we all went into the men's bathroom. There it was. The window. The same window I had seen when I had first entered. I felt so disapointed. I should've caught that. Why didn't I catch that? Now Sanders would get the credit. I shouldn't be so shallow. It would be wonderful just to find the girl, but I wanted to crack the case and bring her home, and maybe- just maybe- have a parade thrown in my honor. I helped Sander's print the window.

"Got one," Greg said.

Great, another thing he beats me at.

"Wait," I said, " so do I." As we finished with the window we all seemed to collectively sigh. With the sun shining through, dozens of prints showed up. What were the odds one of these would lead us to our perp?


	3. Snark and Circumstance

A/N: Don't own anything, but Jillian. This story is mainly to build Jillian. Next story will involve some romance and drama. Or are they the same thing:)

I was sent out on the perimeter with Nick. He was checking out the parking lot, making sure not just to focus on the area we were sure the perp would've been parked. That's one of the problems with this job. Sometimes you think you know what happened so you focus on proving that. I know many people who claim they always let evidence speak for itself. I don't think we always succeed in doing that. It's hard, you know? Let's say in a rape case you find DNA from a known violent offender. You'd think the evidence would point directly to the logical answer. But if that were the case everyone in jail would be guilty and the world would be made of candy canes and lollipops. The known violent offender may have just been a one night stand and the real rapist, the best friend who wanted to be more, was smart enough to use a condom. So I had checked all of the bushes that outlined the building. The area was well kept. The wonder of rich people. They have everything cleaned up for them. Thankfully, the girl was realized missing before any after party clean up. Any evidence I might find would be relavent. _Ow. Damn these things are prickly._ These weren't your friendly bushes, these were your pain in the ass pricky leaf kind. No wonder Nick took the parking lot. _Should've Rock/Paper/Scissored it. _When I got near the window I didn't find much. But then I noticed a little glitter effect on a few of the leaves. I photographed them and then retrieved the samples for the lab. I didn't know if it would be significant or not, but one never knows. I finished up and returned to the group.

"We found some glittery substance on the window seal..." Grissom was explaining. "What else does everyone have?"

"I also found the glitter on the bushes outside the window." I offered.

Nick joined in, "I have some tire marks. The management said they hadn't noticed them before. I'm a little confused about the glitter though. Sara wasn't wearing anthing glittery."

"Let's go back and talk more with Mrs. James. See if there was anyway Sara could've been glittery." Brass responded.

"Alright. Greg and Jillian you can go with Jim and see what you can find out. Nick and I will head back to the lab, see what we can get on the tire treads" Grissom ordered.

And who were we to argue?

We were back at the Jame's residence quickly. Brass immediately got straight to the point.

"Mrs. James, we were wondering if Sara had anything glittery on at the party?"

"Glitter... " Mrs. James murmered as if putting something together in her head. "My purse. She got my purse. She had bought it for me for Christmas. It's so gaudy, but I use it to please her, you know?" She got up and went to her bedroom. Within seconds she came back into the living room with a glittery handbag. Something I could not even imagine Mrs. James would wear. She seemed the epitome of class and that purse, well it looked like something Elton John threw up. I realized then she must have truely loved her daughter. Part of love, to me, is wearing the ugliest object ever just because someone special gave it to you. I felt bad for her in that moment there. I knew she knew someone had taken her daughter. We wouldn't have bothered to ask about the purse if we thought Sara would be found soon. I usually can disconnect from cases. I hate feeling too much for cases, everything becomes so biased. I have a motto: _if I don't know them, I'm good_. I'd just have to shake this off.

"Locard's Exchange," Sander's whispered to me. _Well, duh! Thanks for the Forensics 101 lesson. _I get irritated when people tell me stuff I already know. But not random things that I might not know. Things that if I didn't know, I should be fired. Like that fingerprints are unique. I had this horrible feeling that this would be a crime lab that reiterates even the most basic of forensic principles. But I would suck it up.

When we got back to the lab, Nick filled us in on the background checks of everyone who knew Sara and/or at the party. One of the workers at the complex was registered as a sex offender. The look on Nick's face seemed optimistic and I knew we were going to be here for a while. An officer had already brought Danny Jackson in. Nick, Sanders and I looked in on the interrogation through the two way. His posture was one of defeat. That did not say guilt to me. It said he (guilt non withstanding) felt screwed. He wouldn't be wrong. It happens so often nowadays. I'm not saying sex offenders are okay by me. They aren't. But our justice system is created to protect the defendant, not the victim. But I felt the justice system had slowly turned for the worst. The jury. That's where I felt the problem lay. Too emotional. They want someone to blame and they buy into eye witness testimony far too easily. They are either too slow to fully comprehend a case or too "smart" thanks to TV today. Everyone thinks they can be a forensic expert. After watching Jackson's interview I felt sure enough to say he had something to do with the case. I just didn't think we had enough evidence.

"Do we have enough to search his house and car?" I asked Brass, who nodded.

"Let's do it," Sander's said. Nick and Brass climbed into one car and I looked around coming to the conclusion that Greg would ride with me. When I started the car Bad Religion continued to play. "Awesome choice in music," he said. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was bobbing his head, throroughly enjoying the music._ He's a spaz_. And I was jealous. He was supposed to be new at this, and yet he seemed to be one upping me.

"You don't talk much do you?" he asked.

"I talk plenty... when, you know, I ramble."

"Hmm, I talk constantly. Gris is always getting annoyed, he just wants the cliff notes of things. I want people to hear the whole story of how I came to a conclusion. Not just the conclusion. You know?"

"I wish you would get to the conclusion of this conversation." I snidely said. He quieted up. I've always had a problem with my snarkiness. I felt guilty. Instead of apologizing I just kept silent until we got to the Jackson residence.

"Work time," I said exiting the vehicle. I hoped we would find something in this house.


End file.
